Of headaches and hairy men
by pshhhtboom
Summary: You just wanted to relax and have a walk in the woods after buying groceries. He just wanted a peaceful life in a hobbit hole. They just wanted to reclaim their mountain. No romance, just friendship/broship.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: The only thing I'm going to establish concerning appearance of the 'you' character, is short hair. And, well, average human height? ^-^__ Enjoy reading._

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**CHAPTER 1: Small people and their gardens**

Your head ached like it never had before; it was like someone was pounding on it with the heaviest hammer they could find, and you felt like blacking out once again. If not for the nigh unbearable pain in your thinking place, the underground was kind of…soft?

Or at least not hard enough to make your back hurt, too. It felt like grass, although you didn't feel like opening your eyes and confirming that guess.

"Excuse me. Excuse me, miss?"

You blinked a few times before opening your eyes to an annoyed face.

"You happen to lie on my front porch."

His voice was all but helpful, and you slowly sat up. This man happened to be very small. Small enough to make you question your own perception of height. Maybe you had been drugged? Or that hangover from last night was just really terrible.

"I'm incredibly sorry, sir. Your porch is…" you looked around. You were going to continue your sentence, but the peacefulness of this place stopped you dead in your tracks. This wasn't where you fell. You fell down in the forest, in a spot where you could still see the buildings rise up above the trees. A spot where you could still kind of smell the pollution, and you could hear the cars and trains passing by.

Here, there were only miniature farms and round doors. It would have fascinated you, were it not for the fact that you were not meant to be here. The man was still looking at you while you stood up, and you were beginning to doubt he was an actual man. He was at least a 2 feet smaller than you, even though his face seemed more mature and definitely older.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and coughed a little, looking down at this strange dwarvish man.

"W-where the hell am I, sir?"

He raised his eyebrow in a combination of annoyance and surprise, crossing his arms. He had a pipe in his hand, you noticed, and incredibly hairy feet. You resisted the urge to scrunch up your nose at the unnatural amount of hair.

He probably thought you were weird too, seeing as he was eyeing your clothing like it was weird.

You couldn't help it nobody notified you of the apparent costume party.

"You are in the Shire. On, might I remind you, my front porch."

This man obviously wasn't very happy with you being there. He seemed set on not having any disturbances. And you seemed to qualify as one.

"I apologize, I just have a screaming headache and I really don't know how I got here."

You held a hand up to your head in order to illustrate your pain, only to feel something fluid. You looked at your hand to notice your head was bleeding, and the hairy, tiny man noticed too. His face was still slightly annoyed, but it softened at the sight of the blood.

"Goodness, you're hurt! Come in then."

You followed behind him as he opened the round door, and you had to bow in order to fit.

It was a big mistake to rise up again once inside, because the ceiling was harder than you thought. You successfully made your own headache worse, but you also proved this wasn't some weird-ass dream you had made up.

"Is everything alright?"

You heard him calling from one of the other rooms, and you followed the sound. It was a quaint little kitchen; you were more careful not to hit the ceiling and sat down on the small chair he offered. It wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, but he was being polite, and it was better than the ground.

He cleaned your forehead. Apparently there was a small wound right below your hairline, where the blood came from.

"Thank you, mister…"

It dawned on you that you had completely forgotten to introduce yourself. It was rather rude, being on someone's front porch like a drunk and then casually going in their house.

"Baggins. Bilbo Baggins. Pleasure to meet you, miss…?"

"[Last name] [Name]."

He nodded.

Baggins was not a name you recognized. You often looked up names; you loved to write the occasional short story; and you had never come across something even remotely similar. Same for Bilbo. He seemed to think the same though, as he narrowed his eyes a little.

Your headache just got worse.

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_AN: I just felt like hopping on the bandwagon and writing a dimension-travel story for the Hobbit trilogy. I'm not entirely sure reader-insert stories are allowed on , but I've grown fond of this style of writing. I hope you enjoy the story._

**_AN: wow, read it for the third time and revised it. I'm going to stick with leaving you feminine, that is just a whole lot easier._**


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: Small people everywhere._

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**CHAPTER 2**

While mister Baggins was cleaning the wound on your head and offering you some tea, you looked around the small, peculiar house. It wasn't downright dirty, but everything was kind of thrown on top of other things, resulting in heaps of junk covered with doilies.

Your mind was wandering around, and the best conclusion you could make was that you were somewhere far from home, without any money or your cellphone. Or wi-fi. Or a map. The only thing you had were the clothes you were wearing and the keys to your house…which was nowhere in sight.

"Mister Baggins, would I perhaps be able to stay here a few days?"

He seemed taken aback by the statement, which wasn't a really big surprise. The way he reacted to a stranger on his front porch was a clear indication that he didn't like strangers in general. Or at least not when they were around him.

"I'm pretty far away from home with no idea how to get back. But I'll work my stay, I can do some basic housekeeping if you'd like. Or some gardening."

He was listening, and clearly overthinking the possibility. From what you'd guessed, he had begun to become a little older (or everyone was just abnormally small here) and the mess around the house indicated that he could always use someone to keep everything clean.

And you had to buy yourself some time to find a way home.

"Very well. I could use an extra hand in the house," mister Baggins muttered, inhaling more of his tobacco. You smiled.

"Thank you."

* * *

It had been a few weeks and homesickness and desperation were slowly becoming part of your mindset. In the few weeks, you had learned a few things: the Shire was inhabited by Hobbits (dwarfs but then with hair on their feet, you called them), there was no such thing as cellphones or internet here in the Shire, and Hobbits clearly weren't used to normal people.

Well, that's what they'd taught you through their staring. It's not like they were scared; quite the contrary, they were friendly and open, but it seemed like you weren't the only one not used to different creatures.

It wasn't your fault you couldn't stop staring at their feet. It was kind of disgusting how much hair they had growing there. Especially since they didn't really have any beards or long hair. And even the women had hairy feet.

Weird, weird people. Hobbits. Whatever.

You were currently cleaning the hallway as Bilbo sat outside smoking some of his drugs. There was no way in hell that 'Old Toby' wasn't some pretty name for weed.

Not that you'd say that to Bilbo, or any other Hobbit.

You were surprised when Bilbo closed the door in a hurry, looking shaken.

"What's the matter, mister Baggins?" you asked carefully, looking up from your broom. He shushed you almost immediately, pointing to the door frantically before looking out the window…

Only to scurry behind a wall a few seconds later.

You didn't really know what to do except stare at the peculiar behavior of your host. Asking him if he was still sane seemed rather rude.

The rest of the day went by pretty slowly, with no more exciting acts by Bilbo. Until that evening.

He had cooked some fish for the both of you, but before he could take a bite (you were already halfway through, seeing as it was kind of a small fish…and you were hungry.) the bell rang.

You both looked at each other.

"Shall I-"

"I'll get it, it's alright," Bilbo muttered, standing up. He was gone for only a few moments, and you heard a lower voice at the door.

The voice was a bald, tattooed, little man, who looked you over before giving a curt bow.

"Dwalin, at your service."

You looked over to Bilbo, who clearly didn't know the man.

"[Name], at yours?" you weren't really sure if that was the answer you were supposed to give. Bilbo was obviously displeased at his dinner being disrupted, but the Dwalin-guy was polite enough to introduce himself.

He was less polite when he just sat himself down and promptly ate all of Bilbo's lunch.

'All' wasn't an understatement: he even ate the head of the fish. You almost feared he was going to take the rest of your lunch –some potatoes and vegetables- but he seemed polite enough not to do that. If you could call what he was doing polite to begin with.

Bilbo offered him some freshly baked bread after the fish clearly wasn't enough to fill his stomach (why would such a tiny man need so much food, you wondered), but the bell rang before he could eat the whole plate.

Bilbo and Dwalin looked at each other for a brief moment.

"That would be the door," Dwalin said, and you looked over to Bilbo, who dragged himself out of the dining room.

"Would there be anything else to eat, lass?" Dwalin asked you. You had to refrain from asking why he wasn't fat yet, and you pointed at the cookie jar.

"I've made some cookies yesterday," you smiled, and he was intent on eating them –if only he could get them out of the jar first. You had to resist chuckling as he struggled with the jar. His hands were clearly to big (his fingers were rather thick too) to get a cookie.

Perhaps it was karma.

"Oh!"

It came from the hallway, and laughter followed. Dwalin put down the cookie jar –a miracle, a miracle!- and grabbed the forearms of a smaller man. He had gray hair, and a long beard, and he reminded you of Santa. A tiny Santa.

You thought the reunion was touching. Apparently they were brothers. It freaked you out when they head-butted each other, but it seemed to be a family greeting, as they didn't really react to it. The tiny Santa suddenly noticed you, sitting at the table, and grinned.

"I hadn't noticed you there! Name's Balin."

You gave him a curt nod and your name, and shortly after they both wandered towards the pantry, Bilbo following. He seemed to be freaking out, but you didn't really know why. Balin and Dwalin seemed like polite guests, albeit unexpected.

The bell rang a third time and you could only imagine the annoyance on Bilbo's face as he passed by the dining room to greet the people at the door. You decided to get up (sitting by yourself while there were guests seemed kind of lonely) and found the hobbit talking to additional tiny men. These two looked younger, one with blond hair and the other with black hair.

It seemed to be an invasion of small men with braids.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The two younger (and slightly more handsome) dwarfs introduced themselves as Fili and Kili, and they bowed in a charming manner when they mentioned their names to you. You couldn't help but smile at the incoming stream of guests. Though peculiar, they seemed rather interesting.

"Should I get the plates, mister Bilbo?" you asked, watching as they started moving the furniture around. Bilbo sighed in utter desperation as you grinned and moved to the kitchen. Better to accommodate to the small people rather than have them pillage everything. Bilbo furiously shook his head, muttering about dwarves and how they were messing up everything –it was rather hilarious.

While you were helping Balin move the table slightly, there suddenly were a lot more dwarves and a tall old man.

" 'Scuse me, miss, where can I find the cheese?" a tubby dwarf asked you, and you pointed to the pantry as you hauled a load of plates into the dining room. It didn't take long for all of them to pillage the pantry and seat themselves as they ate everything in sight. You awkwardly sat in between a red-headed dwarf (you thought he mentioned his name was Gloìn, but you weren't really sure) and a dwarf who had hair in the shape of a star, sipping from your glass of wine.

Ale was thrown around, and the only time there was complete silence was when they were drinking it all –spilling half the mug down their beards, before launching inhuman burps.

You could almost hear Bilbo's brain crack under the pressure of being with this newfound company.

Soon enough, the table was empty, save for the dirty plates. Most of the small people had left the dining room to go smoke somewhere else. You leaned back in your chair when someone tapped you on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, where should we put the plates?" the youngest asked, as you tried to remember his name.

"Best to ask mister Baggins, I think," you smiled politely, following him while carrying a pile of plates too. You didn't know what happened, but the dwarf you remembered as Fili suddenly took over your pile, throwing them to his brother.

Almost immediately, all the dwarves engaged in acrobatic shenanigans concerning tableware, which left you staring in awe. The laughter and joy stopped abruptly, however, when there were a few heavy knocks on the door. You wondered who found himself important enough not to use the bell.

As you went to grab a broom, Gandalf opened the door, revealing –surprise!- another dwarf. This one seemed a lot less festive, though, you noticed, as you looked him over while he scolded Gandalf for getting lost.

"There is no mark on that door, [Name] painted it a week ago!" Bilbo said, his tone rising a little. Gandalf raised his eyebrow at you as you smiled and nodded.

"I'll go make some dinner for the visitor," you muttered as you slipped away from the attention. Gandalf seemed somehow intimidating. As did the last dwarf that entered. And you were sure he'd like some dinner too, just like his fellow midgets. It was quite the task finding some remaining food in the pillaged pantry, but you were successful and made some soup as fast as possible.

When you handed it over to the last dwarf, you noticed Dwalin had grabbed himself some cookies. Well, that wasn't a surprise. The man had his eyes on the jar the entire time he was here. You resumed cleaning the hall; as the company talked about lonely mountains and burglars. It was crazy how quickly they started a fight, and how quickly it ended, too. Bilbo joined you in the hallway, holding what seemed to be a very long document.

"_Incineration?!_" you suddenly heard him say, and the quirky dwarf with the weird hat responded almost immediately; something about melting and bones.

"Think furnace, with wings. Flash of light, searing pain, and puff, you're nothing more than a pile of ash!"

Bilbo clearly couldn't take it, as he just dropped to the ground.

"Mister Baggins?" you muttered, rushing to his side. Had the man just fainted? Why had he fainted? I mean, sure, he was a little bit stressed because there were a lot of hungry and impolite men in his dining room, but…

"I'll talk to him," Gandalf said, as you helped him move Bilbo to a place where there weren't any dwarfs in sight. He would be out cold for a while.

"Mister Gandalf, I have a question."

He paced through the room as you leaned against the door frame.

"You're a wizard, aren't you? Do you…have you…is there any way people can travel across worlds?"

He raised his eyebrow at your absurd question; a reaction you were expecting. You would act the same if someone asked you this. It was nigh impossible to believe your own situation, but it was the only possible explanation.

"I do not know anything about that."

You frowned; another attempt in vain. At least, that's what you thought.

"But I could take you to Rivendell, where there might be someone to help you," Gandalf said, and your face lit up.

"If you would do that, I'd be forever in your debt," you practically sang, as you dusted off your clothes.

"Well, we leave tomorrow. You should pack up."

You did pack up; the idea of finally getting somewhere gave you a new sort of energy. Enough energy to completely ignore everyone in the house and doze off right after packing, hoping that tomorrow would come sooner.

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_**AN:** Sorry about the shitty and short chapter, I just need to make sure I don't start procrastinating again._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The birds were chirping, the sun was slowly rising, and you yawned. Besides the fact that you weren't entirely comfortable riding a pony, you clearly hadn't slept enough. Gandalf woke you at first light of day: somehow that came earlier than you remembered.

Adding Thorin's biting comments about how you were Gandalf's responsibility and you weren't part of the company, your mood dropped very easily. But your pony was nice, and the weather was too, so you decided to stay positive. You shot a last look at the Shire, and your temporary home, as you all crossed the border. While you weren't paying attention, Fili and Kili were riding beside you.

"So, are you up for the bet?" Fili asked you, grinning under that strange moustache of him. You raised an eyebrow.

"A bet?" you muttered, looking around. Surely, the dwarves were huddling together, talking about Hobbits and burglars and how much they were going to bet.

"Whether or not mister Boggins will join us," Kili didn't grin; he was smiling unlike his brother, and you sighed.

"I don't have any money."

It was quiet for only a split second.

"We can bet watch turns," Kili started, and you steered Marian (you had called your not so noble, tiny steed Marian) away from some bushes. Stubborn little thing.

"Since uncle is going to be bothering you about those, company or not," Fili continued, not missing a beat. You looked over at the front of the company. You didn't expect Thorin to dismiss simple duties like that just because he felt like you shouldn't be accepted into the group properly. Letting out a deep sigh, you slouched.

"Alright then. I believe that mister _Baggins_," you put emphasis on the name so that Kili would finally get it right, "will, in the end, join your merry men."

Well, some merry men. Mostly stout and angry men, actually.

"Deal," both patted your shoulders at the same time, and then settled for silence as you kept on travelling. Sure enough, after some time of travelling, there was a yelling in the distance.

"Wait! WAIT!"

You turned to see Bilbo racing towards the group, and you grinned. You had officially won more sleep. All ponies were halting, so that Bilbo could reach Balin and give him the contract, but yours was experiencing some problems.

"Maria- Marian. Ho. Stop. Halt. Please. Mar- Marian."

She was trotting towards the front of the company, and you were close to passing by Gandalf as Thorin briefly watched you and your steed from hell walk by. Of course, they had to give you the demented pony who was deaf. Of course.

"Marian, deary, this is really inappropriate," you muttered as you saw Bilbo being hauled onto a pony of his own, as you were now clearly ahead of everyone. You rubbed your temple, praying to whoever was out there that she would be able to stop one day.

She couldn't. Bilbo had cried out for a handkerchief –you had no idea why- and everyone briefly stopped again, leaving you to figure out if this tiny horse had some kind of brakes. Driving a car was a hundred times easier than stopping this godforsaken animal. You cursed Marian to the high heavens, and meanwhile cursed your natural love for animals.

It was good that you rode at the back of the company; it gave you quite the distance to cross before everyone started riding again. It also gave you the opportunity to briefly talk to everyone, trying to memorize their names.

When night fell, you stopped at a quaint little cliff. Let me correct that: Dwalin forcefully stopped Marian and almost dragged you off of the pony. Your fears were confirmed; Marian was older and pretty oblivious to the world. Damned dwarves.

You were looking forward to sleeping, but those plans had been cancelled too. Lying next to Bombur, you found it hard to sleep on the hard rocks with someone breathing in ten flies every few seconds. Thusly, you settled for joining Fili and Kili near the fire as you tried to sew yourself a cape. The weather had been treating you well these days, but you never knew when it might rain.

You were almost dozing off when there were high-pitched screams in the distance, and you shot up instantly.

"What was that?" Bilbo asked, thinking exactly the same as you did.

"Orcs." Kili said, his voice more serious, and you let out a muffled noise of fear. Whatever orcs were –and you had a strange feeling you didn't want to know- they clearly weren't very pleasant beings. You could see Thorin wake up from his sitting position near the fire.

Orcs clearly were bad news if they could wake up the king under the mountain.

"Throat cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there. The Lowlands are crawling with them."

You widened your eyes at Fili, who was calmly smoking his pipe. You had a lot of questions at this point –throat cutters? Dozens of them ahead of us? Could you try to read the mood instead of smoking that damned pipe like you're talking about a fairytale?- but none came out as you probably gave him a very dumb look.

"They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams…" your attention turned to Kili as you waited for him to finish his sentence, "…just lots of blood."

"I'm not falling asleep ever again," your tone was deadly serious, and both gave you a funny look before cracking a smile. You were still dumbfounded as Thorin decided to join the conversation.

"You think that's funny? You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?"

You feared that question. Mainly because it meant they weren't joking and that there were actual throat-cutters out there.

"We didn't mean anything by it," Kili said, and you could feel the kicked puppy-look, even though his back was turned to you. You couldn't hear Thorin's muttered reply, but it sounded venomous. You watched him walk away to the side of the cliff.

"Don't mind him, laddie," Balin said, scaring the living daylights out of you. Where did he come from?!

"Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs."

You felt like it was story time with uncle Balin.

"After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient Dwarf Kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had got there first. Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs, led by the most vile of all their race: Azog, the defiler."

You put away your sewing gear, directing your full attention to Balin and his story. Anything that could make you redeem Thorin and his constant moodiness was a good excuse to drop everything.

"A giant, Gundabad Orc, had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began…by beheading the King."

You briefly looked around; Bilbo was staring at Thorin, as were Fili and Kili. It was silent for a few seconds before Balin continued.

"Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing. Taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat, and death, were upon us."

You could see some dwarves waking up; sitting up in their blankets, looking at their king. Suddenly it seemed a little bit clearer why Thorin always seemed so downcast. You couldn't imagine being a ray of sunshine seeing your grandfather killed and your father gone missing.

"That is when I saw him. A young Dwarf prince, facing down the pale Orc. He stood alone against his terrible foe, his armor rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield. Azog, the defiler, learned that day, that the line of Durin could not be so easily broken.

Our forces rallied, and drove the Orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast nor song that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived. And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow. There is one I could call King."

You were too busy staring up at Balin too notice the company standing up and facing Thorin.

"And the pale Orc? What happened to him?" Bilbo asked, drawing your attention, as you turned from the hobbit to the king. His face was stern, and at the mention of the pale orc you could see it grow colder.

"Slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago."

For once, you could forgive the biting response, as you leaned back against the rock. However heroic the story was, it all sounded like a fantasy novel to you. Hard to believe. And you knew it was true, because it would make no sense for Balin to lie about something like this.

You just hoped you wouldn't encounter any orcs on your journey.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

You should have finished your cape. It was raining –very hard- and your head was getting soaked. You feared that you'd get wrinkles because you'd been exposed to water for too long. Marian agreed; she was neighing and trotting like her life depended on it. Adding the wet saddle and your soaked butt only made your day slightly worse.

"Is this rain ever gonna stop?" you asked no one in particular, shaking your head for the umpteenth time to make it slightly less wet. No replies were heard. You guessed everyone's good mood had vanished together with the sun.

After a very, very long time, the sun came out again, as if your prayers (and complaints) were heard. The fuzzy ball of hot lava wasn't in the sky for long though; it was almost nighttime already. You were rather happy about that, since you didn't get a lot of sleep after Balin's talk of orcs. And a setting sun meant making camp.

"We'll camp here for the night."

You were glad Thorin said that. Your back and behind were getting sore from being on the pony all day, and you felt a sincere need to eat something. It was the main raison you happily volunteered to help Oin and Gloin and Bombur as they made a fire and food for everyone.

It made you completely ignore Gandalf stomping away. Bombur's cooking abilities could make you forget your misery for a little while, as you practically hung above the pot. You had tried to find out some of his secrets, but to no avail. Today he was making stew. Delicious, healthy stew. Your mouth watered at the thought.

"It's been a while."

You looked up from your bowl of nice, hot stew as Bilbo accepted his from Bofur. Looking around, you noticed that Gandalf hadn't returned yet, indeed. He seemed rather bipolar in your opinion.

"Who?" Bofur asked, not missing a beat in handing out food. You had to give it to the man, and all the other dwarves, their ability of handing and throwing things to people was impeccable.

"Gandalf…"

"He's a wizard, he does as he chooses. Do us a favor and take this to the lads."

You started eating again, hoping that Gandalf would return in the morning. He was the only reason you were on this trip to begin with. You looked up when the two younger Dwarfs stormed back from their watch over the ponies, yelling something about mountain trolls and their burglar being caught. Everyone immediately took up arms, running into the woods, as you raised your eyebrow and put down your stew.

"You stay here and watch the camp," Thorin muttered, before following his company. You hadn't even made any move that showed you were going to get up, but you guessed he felt like rubbing it in that you were pretty useless at the moment.

Oh well. Trolls didn't sound like something you wanted to encounter anyway. And Thorin did make it pretty clear he didn't like you or Bilbo, so you kind of started to ignore him when he said things like that. No use in letting someone who was a few inches smaller than you bring you down.

From your spot by the fire, you could hear the loud battle cries and the screeches of the trolls, until suddenly it was completely quiet.

You blinked and slurped at the last of your bowl.

Well, that couldn't be good. Or perhaps they had killed the trolls? It was a good possibility. You didn't really know anything about trolls. But you did know that the company of dwarves was strong, for sure.

It was only when a lot of time passed that you were starting to get fidgety; what in the name of good food had happened to those dwarves? Surely trekking back to the camp didn't take this long. You were contemplating going after them.

"Where is everyone?"

You smiled when you heard Gandalf talk to you, and scratched the back of your head as you stood to face the wizard.

"They went to fight some trolls quite a while ago."

He sighed. You knew it was wrong, but seeing Gandalf annoyed had something funny about it.

"Where are they then?" the wizard asked, as you turned around.

"Around there somewhere, it's where I last heard a sound," you pointed, and Gandalf promptly dragged you through the woods. You barely had time to grab yourself a knife. It seemed only appropriate to bring some kind of weapon, since it was really vague if this was going to be a rescue-mission or not.

"You stay behind these bushes until the trolls are turned to stone," Gandalf muttered, as you crouched down, and he ran on. You peeked above the leaves; the dwarves were in sacks and on a very primitive barbeque, and Bilbo was talking about parasites.

It was now official: you had joined the weirdest company of travelers in all the world.

The trolls were gigantic, at least twice your size, and 10 times your width, as you thanked whoever was out there that they were at least wearing loincloths. You could make out dirty skin and you didn't feel like seeing too much of it.

Balin noticed you holding back giggles and snorts at the hilarious sight of dwarves messing around in sacks, and you pointed to your knife and then his sack. Cautiously, he dragged himself closer as you began working at the knots. The rope was thick, but you were lucky the knife you brought wasn't too blunt.

You were almost ready when Gandalf burst out of nowhere, breaking a rock in two and blinding you temporarily with the sunlight. Looking up, you watched in slight horror and admiration as the huge things that had just picked up Bombur were slowly turning to stone, their skin cracking and cries dying.

"First time you've seen a troll?" Balin smiled, as you gulped and nodded. Shaking your head a little at the strange sight, you returned to the task of freeing your Santa-look-a-like friend while Gandalf made it a point to break down the do-it-yourself barbeque between the trolls.


End file.
